Page 2 of The Side Deal
My shoulders loosen. “Okay, love. I’m tired and will probably be asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.”
He kisses my cheek again, this time even more briefly, and walks towards James without glancing back.
Eight years ago, we would have raced home from these events and torn our clothes off of each other before we were barely in the door. Now we coordinate separate rides and pretend not to notice the time when the other slips into bed.
I retrieve my wrap and clutch from the coat check and step outside. The valet brings my car around, and I slide into the driver’s seat.
Seattle transforms into a constellation of lit windows against dark buildings. The car’s GPS says forty-two minutes to home, but a restlessness claws at me. I can’t face our sterile house yet. I’ll just lie awake staring at the ceiling for hours.
As I drive, Robert’s words from three nights ago pop into my head. “If you ever wanted to explore being with someone else, I’d be into that. As long as you tell me every detail.” He whispered it against my neck in the dark, and I laughed it off at the time. Now, driving through the sleeping city, his suggestion makes me wonder. Where would I even meet a guy? I wouldn’t fuck anyone we know. Butthe fact that I’m even thinking about this makes me realize I need a change.
My discontent builds until I’m yanking the wheel toward the next freeway exit. I don’t know what I plan to do. I drive through parts of Greater Seattle I never visit, where the buildings are older and the neon signs promise things my neighborhood doesn’t offer.
When I’m stopped at a red light, the windows of an all-night diner catch my eye. Coffee might be good. Across the street from the diner, the Goldpoint Casino’s sign blinks red and gold, beckoning. Casinos have coffee, right?
The light turns green, and I should drive straight home. I should go to bed like the good wife I am and wake up tomorrow to the same empty routine.
I turn left into the casino parking lot.
I park and watch people enter and exit through glass doors. They’re wearing jeans and t-shirts and laughing loudly. They all look to be having a better time than I had at the gala.
When I flip down the visor mirror, the woman looking back at me belongs in the Wellington Foundation Gala, not here. Yeah, that needs to change.
I dig through my clutch and pull out my makeup. Using the mirror, I darken my eyeshadow into a smoky haze. I layer mascara until my lashes are thick and dark. The pink lipstick disappears under deep crimson.
My hair completes the transformation. I drag my fingers through it until it falls in messy, wild waves. The woman in the mirror now looks like she’s capable of things the charity gala version would never dream of.
What am I even doing? I don’t gamble anymore, and I definitely don’t visit casinos in questionable neighborhoods. I’m Shannon Matthews, member of the country club and three different charity boards. I don’t do spontaneity.
But maybe that’s exactly the problem.
The casino parking lot stretches before me like a border between worlds. I grab my phone, intending to slide it into my clutch, but the reality of what I’m about to do hits me. A woman alone at a casino at night—Robert should know. I text him.
SHANNON:
Hey, I stopped at a casino on the way home. Don’t worry, I’m just grabbing coffee. Maybe I’ll play a hand of poker if they have a table.
His response is quicker than expected.
ROBERT:
A casino? Which one?
SHANNON:
Goldpoint. Not our usual scene.
ROBERT:
Are you all right? I thought you were going home to bed.
SHANNON:
Yeah, I just needed to do something outside the routine.
Three dots appear, disappear, then reappear. When his message comes through, my stomach tightens.
ROBERT:
